


Sunset

by Vivasketch



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anxiety, Depressed Hinata Shouyou, Depression, I put the sunshine boy through it, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:48:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25073371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivasketch/pseuds/Vivasketch
Summary: He does it to himself.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 142





	Sunset

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ. If any of these things give you icky feelings or make you want to hurt yourself or relapse in any way DO NOT READ. Stay safe. 
> 
> Trigger Warning for the fic:  
> Self-Harm (descriptive)  
> Self-Hate  
> Depression  
> Anxiety  
> Eventual Suicide Attempt 
> 
> Trigger Warning for the chap:  
> Depression   
> Anxiety  
> Self-Harm (descriptive)  
> Self-Hate

It's tiring. 

Everything is tiring, but Shouyou is a good actor. His smiles still carry the same brightness that they did in the beginning, and maybe his voice is just a little louder (to project over his other self that screams things at him in his own head) but if anyone asks, he's just more confident and so he's more outspoken. 

(Him? Confident?)

He makes himself climb out of bed, reaching for his alarm and turning it off before it gets even louder. 

_I slept so much… but I'm still so tired_.

His morning routine is a blur. Lately the world blends together, almost like he blanks out. His awareness returns when he's sitting at the table, shifting his breakfast around. Natsu talks next to him, his mother humming an old song from where she types away on her business laptop. 

Warmth blooms in Shouyou's chest, and he's grateful for the moment. His mother's voice soothes some of the hurt he feels. 

"Love you, Mama." He says suddenly, feeling the need to voice it. She looks up, her glasses falling down a little on her nose, and his own grin (what it should be) fires back at him. 

"I love you too, Sho. Now what do you want?" It's silly, but the question sends a cold wave over the warmth that had previously unfolded in his chest. (Was he such a bad son that she assumes there's something he wants when he shows her gratitude and affection?) He must have responded, or maybe he stayed silent for too long because when he breaks from his thoughts she's back to her computer, no longer humming. Shouyou digs his nails into the forearm of his opposite arm, the stinging makes it easier for him to breathe. 

Another blur, and he's approaching his meeting place with Kageyama. Genuine joy and determination builds in his chest, replaces the cold flood from his mother's words that lingered. He lets a building, raging yell escape his mouth as he  _ zooms _ past the setter, who's clothes ruffle with the following wind and an outraged look on his face. 

"Hinata, boke! You cheater!" Kageyama yells, taking off after him, a wild whoop of laughter escaping the ginger. 

"You should've been paying more attention, Bakayama!" He cackles. They race to the gym, neck and neck the whole way. However, it's Shouyou's foot that crosses their invisible finishing line first, and he immediately falls to the ground out of breath. He's full of pride, and accomplishment. He grins, and it's genuine this time. The captain's fondly exasperated face appears in his field of vision as he helps him stand back up, ruffling his hair gently. 

"You two," he sighs, amused. Daichi leaves that sentence by itself, because it's enough. "Go get changed." He directs, chuckling. They can hear a just arriving Tanaka and Nishinoya snickering in the background as Kageyama darts to the club room, already seeing another opportunity to regain his lost point. Shouyou squawks, taking off after him. 

"Who's the cheater now you ass!" He grumbles, stumbling in just after the setter. 

"You did it first," was thrown back to him. He shakes his head, changing into something more suited for morning practice.

He blinks, and he's standing in the gym, lined up to practice receives. He adapts, because he's next in line. The ball comes flying towards him and he tries to shift into the correct form, but it's off. The ball goes to the side and something sinks in his chest. _Of course_. Sugawara's hand claps him on the shoulder. 

"Don't mind, don't mind- you'll get the next one!" Shouyou nods, not trusting his voice so he forces his shoulders to shrug instead and goes to the back of the line. He feels like all of their eyes are on him- even if logically he knows better. 

(He doesn't get the next one. The hole in his chest feels bigger.) 

He blinks, and he's in class. Which sucks, because he wanted to focus on practice. He has vague, blurry images in his memory of spiking balls, and joking with his senpai, and teasing Kageyama- but it's like he doesn't remember any of it first hand. 

He blinks again, and this time he's got his hand in the air, preparing to answer a question he'd been confident about to his senses. It tumbles from his mouth awkwardly, and the sensei smiles sympathetically as he tells Shouyou that no, it's not the correct term. His classmates snicker, and his ears burn with shame. 

"He said it so confidently," One giggles. "Why does he always do this? He never actually knows the answer, he's so stupid." More stings on his forearm and he sighs. Raises his hand again. 

"Yes, Hinata?" The oblivious teacher acknowledges. The ginger falters, shyly speaking. 

"May I use the restroom, please?" Pretty much all of the faculty are aware of the boy's restroom visits by now, so it's no surprise when he chuckles and motions to the hall. Shouyou stands slowly, grasping his bag subtly, and trudges to the boys restroom. He goes to a stall and sits on the icky floor, pressed up against the door. He just… needs a moment to breathe. Or make it so he  _ can  _ breathe at least. He reaches for the zip on his bag, pulling the sharp jagged glass shard from the pocket. 

A month ago when he'd dropped one of his mother's favorite glasses and shattered it, in his guilt he'd hidden the shard away after he'd cleaned the mess. Since then, it has become his out. It's always on him. 

He fiddles with it for a few minutes, just shifting it back and forth between his fingers. He's never liked blood, or pain, so it always takes some working up for him to be able to cut. The internet said it would get easier the more he did it, but he's yet to found that to be true. 

After a while he sighs, taking the thin support band he's taken to wearing on his wrists (for support, he'd told the team, when he spikes!) and pulls them off. He looks at the recent and the healed thin lines on his left wrist. It feels almost reassuring, but also makes him feel sick. God, he's so fucked up. 

_So fucked up_ , he thinks when he presses the sharpest end of the shard against his wrist.

He blinks, and there's four new lines marking his wrist, bleeding sluggishly with a few lines of the blood dripping onto the floor from the edge of his wrist. 

He blinks, and he's got a thin strip of stolen gauze from the medical cabinet pressed to the area, slipping his wraps back into place.

Another blur, another blink- and he's back in the club room, changing for practice. 

He fixes his smile in place, while the demon (himself, he's the demon) eats away at his insides. 

(Because he does this to himself.)


End file.
